Ghost Boys and Girls
by Lambystories
Summary: Tweek Tweak is a lone, teenaged paranormal investigator who finds himself in the company of the deceased Tucker family. They seem nice! ... for a bunch of restless spirits.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! I'm kind of new to writing- the creative, published writing, that is. This is based off a Creek AU created by a cutie on tumblr: post/33536430760/alternate-au-of-the-one-where-tweek-is-a I don't plan on making it long, just another chapter or two. Hope you enjoy! U w U**

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Tweek had no idea how his curiosity overcame his common sense so easily, but what was done was done. He found himself standing in front of the creaking and crumbling old house he stumbled upon last week, looming over him in all its three-story glory. What was once a charming white establishment now had paint cracked and peeling to reveal rotted wood underneath, garden plants shriveled into dry carcasses, a picket fence destroyed by weather and neglect—all imprisoned underneath weeds and moss.

What pulled Tweek in even further in investigating was what laid around the house: A bike against the porch, a tire swing hanging by a thread on the tree near the corner of the house, and a doll with its back against the single attic window. The idea of children once occupying this house erased _most_ of Tweek's guess of it being a mass-murderer's hide-out. Because what if that's how he lured his victims in!

No, the objects were too old and decayed to win a child's favor. They belonged to the family who inhabited the house. And how did Tweek know this?

A ghost girl chased him off a week ago.

Not _chased_, Tweek admitted to himself. More like he dashed right out of there the second he saw her, screaming his head off and riding his bike down the dirt road that brought him there. From it to the main road took fifteen minutes to pedal, and another twenty to civilization. The journey back after being spooked took all of ten.

The mystery of the ghost girl kept nagging at his mind the whole week it took him to gather up his courage and come back. He was always interested in the paranormal, a shock to some who thought they knew the jumpy boy well. Paranoid and concocting impossible theories since he was young, Tweek grew up thinking he might one day prove these things real, or at least debunk them so they wouldn't be able to occupy his mind anymore. He spent days at the school library looking up various subjects in the supernatural, and roamed the Internet for local stories at night. Of course a lot of strange things happened where he lived, but you couldn't find many records on them he unfortunately found out. The townsfolk he was even acquainted with never openly talked of the unusual past event. It was like they just wanted to forget? Well not Tweek. Tweek had to know, and get proof of what he knew.

The blonde boy looked down at his watch—2:55, around the same time he was here before. He rolled his sleeve back down over it, and patted his hoodie pocket. His flashlight was still in there. On his back was his school backpack, carrying his mom's expensive camera secure in another bag, a water bottle, a couple granola bars, extra batteries, a notebook and pen, and the cell phone he hardly used except for emergencies.

"Now," Tweek started aloud, "do we check the perimeter, or head straight inside?" Both were tempting, and equally terrifying. The ghost girl had been outside on the porch, and he didn't know how he would react if he saw her again. Adjusting his pack, he decided he could walk around and look for a back door. Answers that question, he thought.

He slowly crept along the side near the tire swing tree, just beside the dead garden vegetation; it was enough space between him and the windows, in case he saw that girl's face peering out through the curtains that covered most of the view inside. When he reached the corner, he slowly stuck his foot out into the open first.

Dragged the rest of his body, half of his form visible.

Put his hands on the house.

Took a peek.

Nothing to be seen but trees and the broken-down fence.

He breathed, and started walking again. He was in the backyard now, and there were no more plants but small dead flowers to distance himself from the windows, which were now bigger, but still covered by the moth-eaten curtains behind the dusty glass. Not a door anywhere.

Something suddenly grabbed Tweek by his left leg and he screamed. The flashlight fell out of his hoodie as he stumbled, running backwards all the way into a birdbath, which cracked and fell to the ground. His shoelace got stuck in the fractured base and the boy fell forward- luckier than injuring himself had he landed on his back atop of the stone wreckage.

Nose-deep in dirt, Tweek spouted muffled "Shit shit shit _shit_!" in panic and shakily pushed himself up on his hands. He got up on his feet as fast as he could, legs wobbly and feeling light-headed at first, but he had to stand his ground to whatever got him. At least that's what he thought he'd do; he still wasn't sure he'd see this second visit through to the end. He looked toward the house and kept his eyes on it as he slowly reached down for his flashlight. Nothing but windows and trees and fences, again. Then another pressure was felt on his other leg.

Tweek's hands flew up to his mouth, as did the flashlight he was holding. After shutting his eyes at the throbbing pain in his lower lip, he opened them slowly again and found himself staring down at a grey cat rubbing against his legs. It looked up at him innocently, mewing for attention the dirt-covered blonde was reluctant to give.

"F-fuck off!" he spat, pointing the flashlight at it. The cat flinched, but began mewing and rubbing against the bottom of Tweek's jeans again. "I mean it, y-you... you scared me!" He brought two fingers to his bottom lip and inspected them quickly. He wasn't bleeding, but he sure was in a lot of pain. The creature responsible was enjoying its newfound company. Tweek sighed and gave in to a few scratches behind the ear. A stray was a lot better than a ghost or a zombie trying to nab him, he decided. "Do you live here, too?"

The cat looked up at him without signs of understanding, not that Tweek expected an actual response. He sat on his heels and inspected what he could see of the house again: The big windows on the first floor, a few smaller ones on the floor above, and another small attic window parallel to the one in the front. Bringing his eyes back down, he saw an open basement window behind the wilted flowers. Too small for him to fit through, but the most definite way the cat came from. "So you _do_ live here."

One last pat on the back for the cat and Tweek was on his feet again. He felt bad looking at the accidental vandalism behind him, yet he had to move on; breaking something and running away was _not_ the impression he wanted to make on whatever spirits lingered. "Shit," Tweek swore under his breath. He paced to the next side of the house. "Will the ghost girl be mad at me?"

The question was left unanswered like the last, though it no longer mattered when he found the second door he was looking for. It was cracked and rotted like the rest of the exterior, and when Tweek hesitantly took it by the doorknob, he found it to open with the eeriest, blood-chilling creak. No matter how far he pulled, inch by inch the sound only got worse. It sent shivers down his spine and shook his nerves as the hinges shrieked, until he couldn't take it anymore, and threw the door open as fast as he could.

The new light outlined the dusty objects in the room, on opposite sides of his shadow standing in the middle of the doorway. Everything else was nearly pitch black if it was hidden away from what little light also escaped through the windows. From what Tweek could make out, he was in the kitchen, counters outlining the room with the fridge and stove nestled in the corner. He found a light switch to his right, flicking it up for a quick chuckle at the expected reaction: Nothing. To his left and a few paces forward, an archway opened the kitchen up to a few shadowed dining chairs, perfectly align and facing the darkness-hidden table.

Pulling out his flashlight, Tweek scanned what he could see one last time before turning it on. It didn't have the strongest light, but did its job nevertheless. He closed the door quickly, allowing the split-second scream of the hinges before he clicked it shut. Was it a good idea? Maybe not, Tweek thought, but he might have a heart attack if it slams on its own… like in the movies.

He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly through pursed lips as he moved his flashlight around the room. The wallpaper was pale with flowers running along the middle, mold building in one of the top corners. He inched forward, slowly but surely, almost bumping into a small round table by the archway. On it was a single candle, its wax hard and flowed over the metal holding it was on. Tweek smiled, thinking this was a good a photo opportunity. He set his bag on the small chair beside it to take out his mom's camera bag. The flashlight was placed with its beam up on the ceiling.

When the camera was around his neck, Tweek turned it on and started fumbling with the settings. Close-up, flash, landscape.

Three shots were taken, the candle on the left view, and what he could grab of the kitchen making up the background. He looked through the shots, checking them over. He wasn't exactly a photographer, but his mom did weddings and events, and surely he had picked up something from her with how well and artsy-fartsy his shots came out.

Satisfied, the camera was stuffed back into the two bags as he grabbed the flashlight and ventured onward. Had he looked closer at his work, he could have made out a pale face staring back at him next to the trash bin.

The paranormally-intrigued teen had made it through the dining room and a bathroom without incident, taking a few shots in both. He walked through the hallway that connected them and few other rooms he had left to investigate, until some framed photographs caught his eye.

Wooden and brass picture frames hung crookedly, one that was in direct view of a window's small ray of light had faded the picture it held. Creepily enough, it whited out only the face of what Tweek could tell was a very large man. The Faceless Man. The girl's father? He couldn't remember much of the girl running away as fast as he did, but he knew she was tiny. Maybe he resembled her in the face, the idea making Tweek shudder. The girl definitely had a face, he could remember that much. She stared at him, with an expression he couldn't read in time before his fear got the best of him. He moved on to the rest of the photographs, where he had to blow the dust off to see better. (There was the risk of the frames falling and the old nails falling out too, and he didn't want to have to deal with that.)

The largest photo was a family portrait, Tweek was certain. A large man was present, bald apart from a few styled bits of hair—just like the Faceless Man. Though old and black and white, his features were easily seen as intimidating with his mouth in a straight line, but his eyes were soft and kind. The woman next to him, presumably his wife, had lighter hair than him with a face too young for it to be grey or white. Blonde? Probably. She wore the same straight, old-times-portrait face, eyes more stern, but in no way cruel that Tweek could make out. You could tell she was the tougher parent, even being so much shorter and thinner than her husband; a whole foot difference in height _and_ width.

Tweek prepared himself before looking into the face of the daughter that stood in front of her mother, but he still felt the same dread that was there when he first encountered her. She was twelve years-old at the most, her hands in her lap and her hair in pigtails—the shade matched her father's. The youth still lingered in her features, and the corners of her mouth were pulled up in the tiniest smile. Actually, she looked like she was trying to hold back a laugh. Tweek felt relieved, until he looked into the cold, printed eyes of the boy standing next to her.

Hands behind his back, hair slicked back and best suit on, this boy stared at the camera with an expression much different from the rest of his family. His face was more serious, not a hint of gentleness or amusement to be found. His hair was jet-black, something also unshared with his company. Was he really their son? Was he adopted? Tweek squinted and leaned in closer without the picture going fuzzy in his vision. Turned out he and his father had the same straight nose, he and his mother the same thin lips; thick eyebrows shared by all four. Related or not, the boy was out of place. He was nearly as tall as his father. Maybe sixteen or seventeen here? Tweek was sixteen, but couldn't even begin to dream of being that tall. Hell, his voice still cracked on occasion.

Smaller pictures held individual members of the family, just the parents, or… just the girl. Tweek kept scanning the wall, but couldn't find the boy anywhere else. He looked down at his feet, but no other frames littered the floor. It was weird, and Tweek definitely needed pictures oh his own. A couple shots of the whole wall were taken, then of each frame. (It was scary to snap the Faceless one, even if he did have a face to put on it now.) He had them in his camera now, flipping through them quickly, and nodding to himself.

"I should start a 'Haunted South Park' blog," he commented. But his voice came out in a breath of white air—the kind you see when it's cold outside.

Tweek's fingers froze around the camera. He exhaled again: White clouds.

The camera went to sleep on its own, the screen now black. With his flashlight off for convenient use of the camera, the whole room was black, save for the light that shown on the Faceless Man. He was afraid to look up and around, his body feeling the chill that gave his breathing visual life. He tried to stop breathing out his mouth, but the warm mist from his nostrils was faintly visible. It was the only thing he could see in the dark. Not even his reflection stared back at him from the camera.

But something did.

It slowly creeped up on him and over his shoulder.

A single, white face and neck.

It was staring back at him through the camera's dead view screen, eyes and mouth hard.

The serious face of the misplaced son was the last thing Tweek saw before black totally consumed him in unconsciousness.

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**Wow what a gross chapter. This is what happens when I can't draw out what I want: I try to write it. Stay tuned...? - LZ**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, thanks for the reviews and nice comments on here and tumblr... ;/w/; They mean a lot, wow. This chapter's a little longer, hang tight.**

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Coming back into reality was a challenge, Tweek was so sore. From when he fell, when he hit himself—and from what he was currently gathering— having fallen again. He fainted when he was looking into the camera, and—

"The camera…" Tweek mumbled weakly. He felt something cold and hard against his arm. He brought his hand up and felt that its chord was still around his neck. But was the machine broken?

"No no no, oh god, no," he started to stammer. More curses escaped him as he rolled his head toward the object against his arm, and there it was. But it was too dark to see its condition, and he was still cold underneath his hoodie. The strong absence of heat was what woke him up, and he started to remember the absence of his flashlight as well.

Tweek sat up and let a groan escape him. His backpack came up with him. He shook it off, set it in his lap, and blindly dug through it. When his hand clasped the cylinder shape of his illuminated savior he clicked it on and inspected his mom's most prized possession… intact. He turned it on just to be sure. Messed with the buttons and a little, shut it back off. Yep, it worked. Thank God! The thing couldn't be put in the camera bag fast enough; there was no way he was touching it any time soon. What if he _did _break it? His parents think he's studying with his friend Kenny while they're at work.

Were they still at work? "Shit, what time is it?"

Tweek pushed his sleeve up to look at his watch. Small, digital blue numbers told him it was a quarter-past four. He hasn't even been here for two hours yet! But nothing could help him figure out how much time was spent investigating, and how long he was unconscious for.

He didn't want to think of his fainting, because he would have to remember why he passed out in the first place.

That boy.

Tweek tried his hardest not to remember how concentrated that boy's face was, how he snuck up without a word with a serious plan working in his eyes, but he wasn't able to help it. He hugged his bag to himself, burying his face and wanting to scream. If the girl he saw in the photo was the same girl from a week ago, that meant the boy was a ghost too. The house had two ghosts, and Tweek had been vulnerable to them for who knew how long.

One of them still lingered behind him, observing the scene. The living boy's blood froze, veins ice and heart skipping a beat feeling its sudden presence. He breathed into his pack, on the verge of hyperventilation. His eyes were wide open and staring into blackness, down the hallway of the unknown. Was the boy still here, or was it the sister?

The side of his body felt like it was unclothed in snow it was so cold. The ghost had come closer, standing next to him. He grew colder. The ghost was crouching, or bending his head down at him. Tweek was shaking; his breathing now audible, hard and fast. The shifting material of the backpack was failing as an anchor for what sanity he had left. He didn't dare move his eyes. He couldn't face either ghost. Why, oh why God, did he think he could do this? The spirit was mad at him for sure, for invading the home, taking pictures on private property, breaking that fucking birdbath! He bet the family loved birds! Tweek loved birds! For fuck sakes, he _had _a bird. And now he was going to die and never see his bird again, or his own family, his own house… It was over.

Cool breath that was not his own brushed against Tweek's ear, and a low masculine voice whispered, "What are you doing here?"

The voice was not angry, or threatening or wrathful in any way, but none those points reach Tweek has he hurled his pack blindly toward the ghost, and sprinted in the opposite direction. It was part of the house he hadn't looked in yet, but oh god, he _had_ to get away! He had no time look over his shoulder to see if his toss had done any damage, nor any intention of looking a spirit in the eye. Through all his running he ran into a total of two walls, one bookshelf, and tripped on rug, managing to recover quick enough to shut himself into a small bathroom. Unlike the first one he photographed, this one had a window, which he wiped clean with his sleeve to let in some light. He perched himself on top of the toilet, feet on the lid and arms wrapped around his legs, staring at the door with wide eyes. Blinking was unthinkable. Dust floated in the stream of light all around him. In the light within the confined space he was starting to feel safer.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, coughing when he realized he hadn't been breathing since he closed the door—which had no lock. He didn't want to think about whether or not ghosts could move solid objects or, worse, walk through them. He wanted to rest. Slowly breathing in and out was helping, especially since he couldn't see his breath.

Half a minute later, however, he did. He felt goose bumps under his clothes, the hairs on the back of his exposed neck sticking up. The ghost was right outside the bathroom door.

It spoke quietly, gently, and a bit nasally. "I'm not going to hurt you… okay?"

Tweek didn't respond. He put his hands over his mouth to muffle out any screams that could give him away.

Not that it mattered. "I know you're in there. You tried throwing your shit at me." Tweek's next thoughts were answered: "No, you didn't hit me." Fuck.

He curled his fingers inside his palm, barely exposing his mouth. What to say… what was he brave enough to say? The ghost could be playing him, waiting to suck his soul out when Tweek let his guard down. Of course the opportunity had already passed when he was out cold in the middle of the house. But this was a male ghost he was talking to. The young ghost boy who stared at him through the camera.

"A-are you going to hurt me?" Tweek whimpered out. He meant to sound braver, but he couldn't stop the shaking. The boy must have been coming closer.

"I just said I wouldn't," the ghost replied with a flat tone.

Tweek quietly set his feet on the tiled floor, not taking his eyes off the door. "You're… dead. Right? You're a ghost?"

He could almost hear the eye rolling in the reply he received. "Yes, I'm a ghost. I can't touch you. I mean, I can, but I can't punch you or nothin'."

"W... w-would you want to?"

The ghost boy paused. "… If you _actually_ hit me with your bag, yeah. The fact that you tried just kinda hurts my feelings."

Sarcasm being exchanged between them almost calmed Tweek, but the idea that this apparition may ever _want_ to harm him was just as bad it being able to. The boy's voice brought him back to conversation.

"Dead or not, talking through the powder room is still weird. Are you going to come out, or am I going to come in?"

Tweek didn't know which situation he could handle better: Opening the door to a see-through dead boy, or the boy presenting himself. What if he came in by walking through the wall? He most definitely would have a heart attack; become the toilet ghost of the house in the woods.

"I'm… coming, um, hold on." Tweek answered.

"If you're seriously using the toilet right now, I'm pretty sure our plumbing's been out for a few decades."

_Now_ the sarcasm wasn't appreciated, even if annoyance was doing him a favor pushing away fear. He slid himself up and grabbed the doorknob. Turning it ever so slowly, he shut his eyes whilst opening the door. And he kept them shut. One… five… ten seconds, and he let one eye crack open.

The pale face of the ghost boy wasn't transparent, and his eyes were fixed on Tweek's amusingly, though he wasn't smiling. Instead of his hair slicked back like in the family photograph, bangs hung and were swept over his forehead, just above his eyebrows. He wore a fashionable straw hat fit perfectly around his head. An unbutton vest laid atop a white-collared shirt with the first button undone to breathe easier—back in his living days, Tweek assumed. The shirt was tucked neatly into his dark slacks, and his shoes matched his vest and the trim around his hat. He was the same teenaged boy in the photograph for sure, no older than a few weeks it was taken, or months at the most. His family lived and died before photos could capture his gentleman-like features in color.

But he lacked color too—his eyes were stone black, and no blood was flowing through his face or skin exposed from his forearm to his fingertips left him white as… a ghost. Tweek took all of him in with wide eyes, a mouth clamped shut to keep his teeth from chattering.

"See?" The boy gestured to himself with his arms sweeping out, making Tweek jump. "Not that scary."

He shook his head to agree. "No, you're… y-you're okay."

The boy nodded, bringing his arms back to his sides. He scanned the hallway awkwardly, like he wasn't used to handling visitors. Tweek didn't believe he was the first to come here. He put his hands inside his hoodie pouch feeling just as unprepared. "Um, what's your name?"

"Craig," the boy answered looking up at him again.

"I'm Tweek," he replied. Craig crooked at eyebrow at him; it was name, Tweek knew. He felt he needed to defend himself. "It's not like I got to choose it!"

The ghost scoffed at him. "I would hope not."

"A-at least it isn't boring as _Craig_, I mean jesus. I know like five Craigs!"

"And I bet they're wonderful pricks who get to live and die as they please."

Tweek thought the response meant he crossed the line, but the ghost boy wore an apathetic face and… was flipping him off? He couldn't tear his bewildered eyes away from the rude gesture.

Craig brought his hand slowly out of view. "What?"

Tweek brought his own hand up, mimicking the sign and observing it. "I didn't know this was around that long ago."

Craig snorted and provided a double-bird. "Pretty sure this has been around for ages, don't start to think your generation are the brilliant masterminds behind it."

The blonde wanted to response rudely again, but found a question to ask instead. "When did you die, exactly…?"

Bringing hands down to his sides once more, Craig looked him straight in the eye while replying indifferently: "1943."

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The two teenagers made their way into the living room, where Craig encouraged his guest to pull back the curtains, since they've long-lacked lighting up the place with electricity. Tweek did so, and half-expected his new acquaintance to burst into flames, or melt into bubbling soup like the uncles in _Casper._ He only blinked at the change, sitting in what was once a white chair with his leg crossed over the other and hands in his lap. His eyes followed the blonde back to the sofa in front of him, who looked down at its crusty and dusty state before sitting. The action made him give a skeptical look to his host next.

"Are you really sitting, or floating to keep from going through the furniture?" he asked slowly.

"Guess," Craig offered.

Tweek shook his head immediately. "I don't really want to know."

Craig intertwined his fingers… played with his thumbs, looked out the window… went back to laying one hand over the other on his knee. He cleared his throat; something Tweek thought odd for the undead and un_breathing_ to do, and said "You've been here before, right?"

"Y-yeah, um…" Tweek was starting to fidget as well. "How did you-?"

"Ruby," Craig said. He leaned forward and turned his head to shout up toward the staircase behind him. "RUBY!"

In no time at all a pale little girl was trotting down the stairs, soundlessly descending with light red pigtails bouncing on her shoulders. The few seconds it took her to respond made it obvious she had been listening in on their company all along—she could have been there from the start, watching him with her brother…

Tweek jumped when she stopped next to the sofa's armrest. To little surprise, it was the same girl in the photographs, and the same girl he encountered on the porch last week. Her hair was tied by pale blue ribbons, the dress that stopped at her knees a perfect match in shade. Tall stature must have been a family trait he didn't catch by her sitting in the picture, because she was pretty tall for a her assumed age like her brother. And also like her brother, her eyes were completely black and lifeless, but wide with curiosity as she inspected their reoccurring guest. Said-guest couldn't help stare back, uncomfortable with her silent observing. If Craig wanted help breaking their awkward bonding moment, he picked the wrong assistant.

Tweek leaned back a couple of inches. "H-hi… Ruby?"

The redhead nodded once. "Hi," she replied simply.

"Ruby, you're in his bubble," Craig warned, but he was watching in his same unsmiling amusement as before. Ruby's eyes were wandering and taking in all of Tweek's features: The blonde rat's nest that made up his hair, trembling forest-green eyes, light freckles laying over the bridge of his perfectly straight nose, his thin fingers clutching nervously at the bottom of his shirt, all the way down to his ankles, exposed by low-top tennis shoes and jeans that were not quite long enough.

She leaned straight back up, folding her hands in front of her politely. "Nice to meet you, Tweek."

Knowing his name confirmed his suspicion of her ease-dropping, but Tweek seemed unable to mind that much. Her voice was as plain and even like Craig's, lightly sweetened by her age and femininity. He gave a small smile. "And you, too." He paused before chuckling out, "Good to see you again?"

Ruby smiled, twirling on her toes and skipping the short distance between him and the Craig's perch to stand by him. They looked at each other, like they were waiting for the other to strike up a conversation. The moment passed until Craig was uncomfortable and asked, "Were you taking pictures over there?"

Tweek followed his hand gesture to the hallway, now better lit and exposing his tossed backpack against the wall. "Yeah, that's what I r-really came here to do." He quickly whipped his head back around to face them. "I hope that's okay! I-I didn't expect to see a-anyone here, _again_! I just, um, was going to get everything and leave…!"

"We don't mind," Ruby said shrugging.

Craig nodded. "I thought it was a camera, but…" Tweek possessed little knowledge of what cameras in the 1940s were like, but he guessed they were before portable polaroids.

He got up (grateful to be off the stinking sofa) and went to retrieve his bag. "Would you like to see it?" he asked.

Ruby's face lit up, and claimed his spot on the couch. Craig didn't respond, pursing his lips and watching their guest sling his bag over his shoulder, and the camera around his neck. He stood close to Ruby while he turned it on, Craig giving in with a silent sigh and stood next to him.

The screen coming to life with a little _bing!_ made the ghost children jump, and Tweek apologized on its behalf. He let them observe how the machine had the floor and their feet on camera, digitally, in color. He swayed in back and forth, the screen like a window to look through, and the siblings were beyond fascinated.

"It's going to make another sound, hold on." They braced themselves as Tweek pressed the Preview button, a little _blip_ accompanying it. The window was gone and an image was in its place, a picture of a picture—Ruby with a small kitten. The real Ruby gasped in delight, peering closer at the black-and-white square surrounded by a brown frame and pale green wallpaper. They were captured images, possessing the values of the old world, and the colors stolen by the technological advances of the modern world. Craig's eyebrows were raised, impressed. Tweek went through the saved images slowly, proffering the accomplished possibility of being able to see the house exactly how it was, just smaller and pixelated. His hands were shaking from the combined coldness his new ghost friends gave off, but he figured sharing a new world with them was worth it.

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Tweek had his back to a window, Craig sitting on his chair again, and Ruby on the floor, still giddy from their show-and-tell. Yellow-orange light was pouring in with the evening. The watch on Tweek's wrist read 6:42.

"Will you take a picture of us?" Ruby suddenly asked. Craig's nose crinkled, but he was ignored. "Of us right now, not the pictures on the wall?"

"Um, sure?" Tweek laughed. The way this little girl could go from quiet and apathetic to randomly energetic was cute to him. She was sitting cross-legged, giggling to herself. Actually, at her brother, who had arms were crossed and body slumped deeper into the chair. Tweek gave him a shy but curious glance.

Craig caught it, grumbling back, "I hate pictures." So it explained why the hallway lacked more appearances by him, as far as Tweek knew.

"Just one?" he asked. Ruby nodded excitedly, pleadingly, body turned around to give her brother a puppy-dog face. He responded with his middle finger. Surprising to Tweek, she returned the favor in a sour pout.

But when Craig turned his brief attention to the golden-painted view outside, his expression slowly changed back to his regular apathy. A slight tug of a frown, until he shook his head and sighed. "_One_."

Ruby reacted immediately, pulling her body closer to fold her arms over her brother's legs—the least she could do to thank her brother was give him less work to do to get into photo mode. He sighed again, sitting up straight and resting his arms on either side of the chair's. One hand rested on his sister's before he messed up her hair and she started whining.

"I-it looks fine!" Tweek tried to reassure her. She poked her tongue out, but kept her pose. Craig's hand went back to rest limply over the side, while Tweek turned the camera back on, holding it up. "Hold still, and… smile!"

And it was the first smile Tweek saw from Craig. It wasn't a toothy grin like his sister wore, but a handsome half-smile, exposing hidden dimples and making his black eyes wrinkle. Tweek wanted to imagine how he must have looked in life. How darker his skin might have been, what color his eyes used to be. But even in death, Craig was admittedly good-looking.

The brother and sister had lost their smiles and poses during their photographer's pondering, now looking past Tweek and into the world outside. Yellow had been dominated by the changing hues, lighting the house with oranges and reds. The stillness in their features and lost look in their eyes disturbed Tweek.

"It's getting late." Craig's nasally voice was flat, lost in thought. Ruby nodded.

Tweek nodded too, but felt left out of whatever the two of them were sharing. He didn't understand the sudden change in atmosphere. It was getting darker, didn't ghosts prefer to company of the dark?

He looked down at his watch: just a few minutes past seven. A chilly sigh escaped his lips. "I should probably get going."

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**Thus another conclusion for the ghost hunter Tweek Tweak. Dun dun DUUUNNN.**


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